I sit in my room, alone.
Content with all about me.
My things lain all around.
But in my little egg,
My things will soon discomfort,
Invasion of people's work.

I look at my t.v.,
A simple bit of plastic,
Some knobs, a screen, a speaker.
Bought 'over the counter' in Devon,
A person to person transaction,
The t.v. is now all mine.

But yet it is another's,
Some other's thoughts;
Some other's work.
A person did design it,
Somebody else did build it,
But now I think it's mine?

All about me lie
somebody else's things,
Too many people's work,
They now no longer please me,
For though it is still my room,
I no longer have those things.